A/N: IMPORTANTE, SENORS Y SENORITAS! I added a section to the end of chapter 9! I'm not sure if you guys get email notice of updated chapters, so if you read Renewal soon after I posted it, go back and read it! NOW! (If you want to…)

Anywho, you people are so freakin awesome. I love you all. Only 3 more reviews until I make 100! YAY! Anyways, you all completely rock, and you make me feel so confident in myself. I thank you for that.

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EXPECTANCE

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It was almost three months before she noticed anything…on a conscious level, at least. Perhaps she had been aware, deep within the hidden corners of her mind… But even when these revelations were exposed to her, blunt and undeniable, she was shocked nonetheless…

Christine stepped past the wheels of the buggy, traces of stage makeup still evident on her cheeks and eyelids from the dress rehearsal of Faust. It had gone unexpectedly well; no mistakes, no unanticipated surprises. Erik would be pleased. She smiled to herself, momentarily wondering how he would reward her, compensate for her efforts…

The faint echoing of hoof beats met her ears from the shadowy forest that surrounded the Giry manor. She turned her head and was greeted with the sight of an approaching carriage. Christine stood in mute bewilderment; there was no one who knew of this place…

The buggy stopped a few feet from the front of the gate, the deep mauve curtains over the windows preventing Christine from seeing who sat inside. The door opened painstakingly slowly, and Madame Giry stepped out gracefully, clutching a bag in her hand. Her face had aged noticeably, the wrinkles that lined her face deep and cavernous and streaks of gray filling her once-auburn hair. Her eyes, however, were bright and youthful.

"Madame Giry!"

The aged woman stood before Christine, her presence powerful and somewhat intimidating. Smiling faintly, she leaned forward and kissed Christine's forehead softly. "How are you, my dear? Let me take a look at you." Madame Giry took Christine's hands and held them out, gazing at her softly. Her eyes lingered on Christine's midriff, and Christine stepped back suddenly.

"How is Paris, Madame?" she asked hesitantly.

Madame Giry paused briefly before answering, her gaze trailing over her face, and Christine suddenly felt as if the old lady was reading her thoughts. "Paris is as you left it, child. A city that moves forward even though it is blind, a town of both geniuses and scoundrels."

Christine nodded, taking her suitcase from her and carrying it up the stone flight of steps. "I miss it, but not for the reasons you are describing." She opened the door widely, the faint golden rays of dying light filling the foyer with a heavenly glow. Madame Giry stepped inside, looking around.

"You have taken good care of my father's house, as I anticipated. Thank you for that, Christine."

The slam of a door caused the walls to vibrate slightly. "The dress rehearsal went well. I expected nothing less," Erik's voice called from an adjacent room. "I thought we would celebrate your success." He emerged through a door in the back of the hall, dressed in black trousers and a light pallid shirt that had been opened to the navel, allowing for a sparse amount of chest hair to stand out against the pale cloth. Erik carried a slim bottle of wine in one hand, the green glass casting pinpricks of light across the room. "What do you say to some cognac, followed by…" he began. Then he caught sight of Madame Giry. Erik stopped in the middle of the hall, patches of red creeping up his cheeks beneath his mask.

"Hello, Erik."

"Madame Giry…" he stammered, fumbling hastily with the buttons of his shirt. "I had no idea you were coming back…" Erik cast a fleeting look over at Christine, who could barely withstand the sudden urge to giggle at his awkwardness. "What I mean to say is…"

"It's good to see you, too." Madame Giry strode over to him and placed a small kiss on his left cheek. "You both seem so happy," she murmured, stepping back. "Your singing career appears to be doing quite well, Christine…or should I say Mademoiselle Erika?"

Christine gaped at her briefly, eyes wide. "How did you…?" Madame Giry simply gazed back, a tiny smile lining her lips. "You never cease to amaze me, Madame," Christine murmured, shaking her head.

Madame Giry's grin deepened. "Your reputation has preceded you, Mademoiselle. You are news even in Paris." Christine shot an alarmed look at her, brow furrowed. "But the newly engaged Vicomte de Chagny has failed to make the connection," Madame Giry reassured.

"Newly engaged?" There was a hesitant moment of silence as two pairs of eyes watched Christine's face, waiting for her reaction. "Good." She nodded, glancing up at Erik. "He deserves a wife who loves him."

For a moment, no one said anything. Madame Giry walked over to Christine and took her hand. "But it appears that he is not the only one with good news," she said. Christine looked up at her sharply. "When is the baby due?"

Erik let out a loud, forceful laugh. "Christine's not pregnant!" Christine said nothing, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Tell her, Christine." She remained silent, meeting Erik's eyes tentatively. "Christine?"

"Erik…"

The bottle of cognac fell to the floor in an explosion of glass and wine.

-

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Christine sat on the edge of the bed, watching him pace back and forth across the wood flooring. She nervously chewed her lower lip, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. Footsteps echoed from the floor below; Madame Giry was putting her things away. "I hadn't known, Erik. I…I was aware of something, something different, but I hadn't thought…"

"How long?" He stood in front of the bed, looking down at her.

She shrugged. "A few months, maybe…" she said vaguely. Christine placed her hand lightly on his arm, and he recoiled. Interlacing her fingers with his, she pulled him down on the bed.

Erik wiped the back of his shaking hand across his forehead. "Oh, Christine…why…?" he murmured, and she pressed his head to her breast, holding him in her arms.

"I'm excited for us, Erik. Scared out of mind, yes, but happy at the same time. But you…I don't understand your reaction…"

He pulled away, determined to avoid her steady gaze. "How can you be looking forward to this?"

"How can you not be?"

Erik stood violently, turning his head to her sharply. "My God, Christine, have you forgotten?" he bellowed, eyes burning. "Allow me to remind you!" He reached up to his cheek and tore the mask from his face, the skin under the porcelain shriveled and withered. His right eye seemed to glow, the skin beneath it sagging and flaccid, and his hair fell lifelessly in his face. "What fate would the offspring of a angel and demon suffer?"

Christine said nothing; she only stared, expressionless, at the man before her. "Erik, your face holds no horror for me." She stood up and kissed his right cheek tenderly.

He turned away angrily, eyes closed. "Do not presume to know what it's like to be branded the Devil's Child, Christine," he hissed icily. "Can you imagine yourself holding our child in your arms, half of it you, half of it me, literally? The left side, flawless, perfect. The right…" His voice trailed off, and he traced the creases of his skin distractedly.

"Erik." She reached up to his neck and turned his face towards hers. "You are this child's father; thus, it cannot be anything but beautiful." Christine pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "You know I would love this baby, no matter what it looks like."

He held his hand out to the window, pointing to the distant silhouette of Lyons, darkened against the indigo mountains and nighttime sky. "But can you say the same for them, Christine?"

-

It was the dream again.

Always the same.

Oh God, the horrific notions that had flooded his thoughts. They would have caused a more rational man to go mad… Compelled into insanity by the absence of a body beside him, driven out of his mind with jealousy and anger. "Pity comes too late…"

Erik trembled in his sleep. In his dream, she stood before him, adorned in pure, unadulterated white; and yet he knew that in her heart, she wore black. He stared at her, battles of conscience and decision igniting within his head. His desolation won out, but the other voice lingered by his ear, demanding an explanation, asking him what he was doing…

"This haunted face holds no horror for me now…" Hadn't she only just said this to him that night? Complete your thought, Christine! Twist the blade as you plunge it into my heart and spirit! Do not insult my intelligence by leaving me with this pathetic hope!

His pillow became damp with tears.

"It's in your soul…" What exactly is in my soul, Christine? What lies within the depths of these shadows that you have come to fear so? "…that the true distortion lies…"

The sensation hadn't erupted in an outburst of fire and rage as he assumed it would. It simply died. Ceased to exist. The last of his humanity faded into blackness, drained from his face just as the color had. And then the Vicomte had spoken of compassion…

They were memories…but how desperately real they all seemed… "Pitiful creature of darkness," she had said. "What kind of life have you known?" And with a sudden realization, the world wilted; all he saw was her image floating towards him, an angel in the truest sense of the word, her eyes filled with…something… "God give me courage to show you, you are not…alone…" And time stopped, along with the constant beating of his heart. Her lips…

No!

'How dare you?' his mind screamed. 'Do you realize what you have done to this beautiful creature, you monster? You devil's child!" He broke. Shattered. And the pieces were thrown to the wind. Through his tears, he gazed at her, and pulled his hands off her body. How could he touch her? How dare he touch her? Monster…creature…thing…

Christine felt him tremble. In her drowsiness, she looked up at him and saw his face, wet with tears, his eyes closed. She laid her hand across his chest, and he flinched at her touch. Her mind drifted back to sleep, a sigh floating past her lips. Soon, her breathing became regular.

Erik pulled away and got up, glancing back at her and feeling disgusted with himself.

-

Her dreams were filled with images and noises, disjointed and obscure. Sounds that haunted her thoughts came back from years ago; her father's funeral march, and the echo of bitter sobbing. Erik…?

A distant voice, and flashes of crimson. And a face…

She fell into the fire and landed in her bed. Christine was shaken her from her nightmare with a sudden jolt, and for a moment, she was completely disoriented. Christine thrashed around in the tangled linen, the sheets wrapping themselves around her. Then, slowly, her own consciousness dawned on her. "Erik?" she called into the night.

He stood out on the balcony, looking solemnly out on the darkness. Shadows danced across his bare back, and he was motionless. His arms were set against the banister, his muscles visibly tense. Christine got out of bed silently, pulling a white lace blanket over herself. Stepping out into the night behind him, she reached out and lay her hand on his shoulder.

Erik turned his head away from her. "I thought you would be so happy with him, Christine," he murmured. "When you…kissed me…I knew I could never have you. I knew he was the one you loved." He tilted his head up, gazing at the full moon. "But I also realized I could be loved, too."

It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about. "Erik…" She took his hand in her own, stroking his skin softly. "What Raoul and I had…it was based on my needs and fears. I loved him for a time, yes, but what we have…" She turned his face to hers. "…is so much deeper." Erik stared at her. "But that's not what this is about, is it?"

He closed his eyes. "What was I, Christine? In Paris?" A sigh flew past his lips. "They called me 'Phantom,' you know. The Opera Ghost. And I embraced their titles with a strange, corrupted pride. I thought I could create the most pure, beautiful music ever heard to man; I thought I could fabricate the perfect artistic realm, take it from here," he touched his finger to his temple, "to here." Erik spread his arms out in front of him, then turned to Christine slowly, looking into her eyes. "And I thought I could make you love me, because no one else would."

Wordlessly, she took his hand and placed something on his palm. Folding his fingers over it, she pushed it gently back to him. Erik opened his hand slowly. It was the diamond ring she had given to him so long ago…

He stared at it in awe. "Where did you…?"

"On your dresser," she replied before he finished asking. Christine ran her hand down Erik's neck. "I may have been Raoul's wife, but you always had a piece of my heart. It took me a while to realize just how much was yours." She brought his face down to hers and met his lips, intense and passionate. "All of it," she whispered into his mouth. Christine closed her eyes and deepened the kiss.

Erik's tears fell onto her lips, and he pulled her to him.

"I love you, Erik," she murmured. "I love you with everything I have. My soul is yours, as is my heart."

He could be loved…he could be loved…he could be loved…

He was loved.

"Christine…" Erik held the ring out to her. "Would you wear this? For me?"

She smiled at him, her own eyes dampening. "I'll wear it for us."